


Class Dismissed

by klathulu



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, More Pining, Pining, They're all trust fund kids, Vague Modern Day AU, Vague University AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 00:22:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20666246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klathulu/pseuds/klathulu
Summary: Hilda starts a side business making hair accessories and asks Ferdinand to model them for her store’s social media pages.Hubert is going to burn it to the ground.





	Class Dismissed

**Author's Note:**

> Self indulgent vague modern/university au, everyone is a polysci minor, they’re mostly trust fund kids whose parents bought their way in and they all have jobs at their parents companies lined up for them after graduation lmao
> 
> No beta because I was embarrassed.

Hubert ignores the feeling of disappointment that nips at him as he makes his way towards his Thursday lecture. It’s a stupid and frivolous thing, really, and Hubert is again reminded that despite all his efforts, he will never have sufficient control over his emotions. This is the first Thursday morning lecture Hubert has been to in months that has not been proceeded with the smell of earl grey and coffee mixed, and Ferdinand’s smile across from him in the corner of the Bisell Hall cafe. It has become a routine for them to meet before their shared Thursday lecture, for them to ready themselves for the day together over their drinks of choice, every week for months uninterrupted until Ferdinand sent him a message a couple days prior letting Hubert know he will have to miss this week after promising to help a friend.

Ferdinand is a popular man and a kind soul, and Hubert refuses to reflect on the dark cloud that seems to have taken over his mood, refuses to think a second more on the heavy feeling that has planted itself in the area suspiciously around his heart. Hubert is more disgusted with himself than anything else as he walks into the lecture hall and takes his regular seat next to Edelgard, short greetings on both their lips.

Hubert clears his mind as much as he is able to as he retrieves his laptop from his bag. He has a life outside Thursday mornings with Ferdinand and a lecture to pay attention to. He is far too old for what he fears may be something suspiciously akin to moping.

Hubert hears Ferdinand’s laugh first before he sees him, and his eyes are drawn to the doorway by the sound.

Hubert prides himself on his observation skills, his memory.

Hubert knows the exact way Ferdinand’s hair falls, the entrancing soft waves that cascades down his back, the tips that tickle into the curve of his waist. Hubert has memorized the way strands of hair frame Ferdinand’s face, runs behind his ears, falls along the curve of his neck, and lays down across his shoulders. Ferdinand fashions his hair in only one way, and it is a way Hubert is well acquainted with, the visual burned into every brain cell of Hubert’s mind.

Ferdinand walks in, wide smile and bright eyes. His hair is pulled back, circling the crown of his head in elaborate yet loose braids and terminating to a low bun at the base of his head, revealing more of Ferdinand’s neck than Hubert has seen in years. Weaved into his hair are tiny gold metal pieces, reflecting the dim classroom lighting and demanding all of Hubert’s attention.

This is not his typical look.

Hubert manages to choke on air, something he cannot even remember last doing.

Edelgard gives Hubert a side glance and is unable to hide her smile, but thankfully says nothing. Ferdinand parts from his conversation with Hilda and makes his way up the lecture hall steps to his usual seat next to Hubert, casually greeting him and Edelgard as normal, as if a great upheaval in the entire state of the world has not just occurred.

As Ferdinand extracts his laptop from his bag and prepares for class next to him, Hubert is flushed, uncomfortable in his seat and more aware of the physical presence of Ferdinand at Hubert’s side than he has ever been before. The heat radiating off Ferdinand’s body feels hot, hotter than Hubert has ever known it, as if Ferdinand decided just looking like the sun was not enough. Hubert too must be giving off inhuman levels of heat, a full body blush overtaking him, yet another bodily reaction he does not remember when he experienced last. He hopes it is not too visible. He hopes no one is looking their way.

“Ah Hubert, I missed you this morning. I must say, the start of the day is not the same without the smell of your drink surrounding me. We should make up the time when we next can,” Ferdinand says as he settles in. At this distance Hubert can see the small golden pieces scattered in Ferdinand’s hair are actually shaped like bees.

“Sure.” Huberts voice sounds strained even to his own ears. He again feels the glance Edelgard gives him.

Hubert writes his notes on autopilot and absorbs nothing, thoughts a swarm of golden bees buzzing at him incessantly.

When lecture finally ends he scrambles, lets out some flimsy excuse, one he does not even remember before either Ferdinand or Edelgard can say anything, and rushes out as if chased.

\--

The next week Ferdinand again cannot make it to their morning coffee and tea appointment, and Hubert feels an interesting mix of both heavy disappointment and absolute relief. A week was insufficient time to forget the way the soft waves of Ferdinand’s hair wrapped around his head like a crown, or the hypnotising curve of Ferdinand’s neck, and Hubert wonders if he will ever be able to pretend to be calm in Ferdinand’s presence again when he has seen what he has seen.

But Hubert is experienced in pretending, and has extensive practice in suppressing his feelings deep.

Perhaps he can train his mind and body to go back to his mindset back in freshman year, back when he found Ferdinand obnoxious and annoying; just a loud insecure boy following Edelgard around trying unsuccessfully to prove himself her better, talking that way he does as if he learned to speak from period movies. Back when it was as annoying as it was perplexing, before Hubert came to found it endearing. Back when Hubert felt differently about a lot of things.

Nothing has changed, Hubert tries to lie to himself for all of two minutes before Ferdinand walks through that accursed doorway again.

Ferdinand walks in, mid conversation with Hilda, the front strands of his hair pulled back into waterfall braids around his head, another crown of hair circling Ferdinand’s natural soft waves. Today it is pearls connected by black silk that is weaved into his hair.

Hubert doesn't know what he will do if this becomes a _thing_.

Ferdinand’s eyes light up when he sees Hubert and Edelgard, and he waves from the doorway before making his way up. Too many things have changed, Hubert realises. Hubert is no longer innocent to the full degree of temptation possible on this earth.

Hubert wonders briefly if he should skip class. It would not even be difficult to fake illness now, his body already a mess of sweaty palms and heart palpitations. It is not like he will be able to retain anything this class anyways.

These are the thoughts of a fool, Hubert realizes. He is not some preteen boy running into lockers because his schoolboy crush is wearing a flattering summer dress. He is above this.

The class proceeds as normal, and Hubert diligently listens to the professor and takes his notes. Hubert is an intelligent man who does not get bested by such superficial things like a change in hair styling.

When class ends he again packs his items with slightly more haste than usual, but is stopped by Ferdinand’s hand on his wrist.

“Hubert, please, you do not need to be in such a rush to leave. I wish to speak with you,” Ferdinand says, voice taking on a soft pleading tone.

Ferdinand, good and pure Ferdinand, of course he is not so unobservant he hasn’t noticed Hubert’s avoidance and quietness the past week. Hubert is already brainstorming a thousand excuses, ranking them in his head by how believable they are.

“Unfortunately it seems I have promised my Thursday mornings to help a friend. But there are other hours in a day and other days in a week. I have come to quite enjoy our appointments together and I was hoping perhaps we could find an alternative time to continue them.” Ferdinand turns to him, eyes earnest and hopeful, and Hubert finds himself unable to look away. Ferdinand’s hand is still on Hubert’s wrist, a heavy weight immobilizing Hubert completely.

“Me too,” says Hubert, too earnestly, too unfiltered, too honestly, Ferdinand’s eyes and hands rendering Hubert temporarily incapable of mustering even flimsy defenses of sarcasm.

Ferdinand’s eyes light up with happiness, his eyes always the too-open windows to his soul, bright and direct. Ferdinand claps his hands together and smiles wide, beaming inside and out. “Perhaps in the afternoon? If I recall correctly, we have another shared free hour at three? I must confess, Thursday afternoon teas with you sounds absolutely delightful!”

Hubert nods, muscles tense and feeling as if he has lost control over everything: his life, his mind, even his body. Ferdinand brushes a couple strands behind his ears. Hubert eyes follow the movement, powerless to tear his eyes away.

Ferdinand notices even this, of course.

“It is a bit much, for a school day isn’t it?” Ferdinand asks, shoulders just slightly more hunched than before, the smile on his face just a bit more forced.

Hubert prides himself on his ability to read people, their emotions, their motivations, their actions, but such skills are never needed with Ferdinand. He has tissue paper barriers with strangers and non-existent ones when with friends he trusts. Self-conscious is a rare look for Ferdinand, and the pits of Hubert’s stomach sours.

“No,” Hubert manages to spit out, short and succinct because that seems to be all he is capable of today, “it looks… nice.”

Ferdinand’s eyes grow soft, his smile more genuine again.

“Thank you friend. I will admit I do find it quite refreshing. I will be seeing you at three in Bisell Hall then?”

Hubert nods.

“Great, until then. I must be leaving for my class now, apologies for holding you from whatever you were in such a rush to attend.”

\--

They say once is chance and twice is coincidence, but three is a pattern and when Ferdinand walks in to class for the third week, hair in a plait down his back and the front of his hair pinned back with fabric lilies, Hubert accepts that this pattern is one that will murder Hubert in the slowest and most painful of ways.

“What’s with all the hair things?” Annette asks from the front row, hand waving at the general direction of Ferdinand’s head, finally voicing the question that has never left Hubert’s mind, not for even one second in the past three weeks. “Changing things up? It looks good.”

“Ferdie here, is helping with the new online store I am opening soon. Adorable and beautiful accessories, handmade by yours truly,” Hilda answers from Ferdinand’s side with a wink. “Ferdie’s agreed to model my pieces for my social media pages. An excuse really, for me to see Ferdie in braids and updos like I’ve been absolutely dying to for years. Look out for my store everyone, opening soon!”

“Ferdinand! You are allowing for friends to play with your hair? I would have great joy in braiding your hair in Brigid’s ways.” Petra calls out from her seat, childlike excitement in her voice.

“Look Petra, you aren’t the only one who has been waiting for a chance to run their hands through Ferdie’s gorgeous locks and work their magic,” Hilda replies with a pause, pointedly looking Hubert’s way, “but I’ve got Ferdinand booked for another month, so you’re going to have to be patient and wait in line.” Hilda is the absolute picture of vapid schoolgirl innocence; playful grin, wide eyes, and a finger twirling a strand of her hair. But Hubert can see the spark of someone who knows too much in her eyes. Hilda is too intelligent, too observant. Were her voice not so shrill and she so reluctant to live up to her potential, Hubert would have aggressively pursued poaching her from Claude’s company for Edelgard’s future empire.

As it currently stands, she is too lazy and her voice is too shrill and Hubert has no choice but to plan her murder before she helps Claude’s company become a serious competitor to Edelgard’s empire, and for no other reason.

And oh gods, Hubert thinks, the entire next month.

“Ladies, please. If it would give you great joy to braid my hair Petra, than it would give me great joy to let you do so! I’m sure we can find some time. And yes, I am helping Hilda with her store. Her pieces are really quite exquisite, if I were a man partial to styling my hair with ornaments I would buy out her entire store! As it stands, I am happy simply to allow you to do it for me and take your photos,” Ferdinand says, hands out and up, ready to appease.

The professor walks through the door then, and the class quiets as everyone prepares for business as usual.

Except Hubert, who plans Hilda’s murder.

\--

It becomes a weekly torture.

Waterfalls, braids, plaits, jewels and gems; Hubert’s mind is a mess of ornaments and gold plated trinkets.

Hubert is torn between seeing Ferdinand and not seeing Ferdinand, and he cannot tell what is worse, both terrible for different reasons.

It has become an issue, Hubert thinks when he comes to, and finds himself in front of a small flower shop at the corner of University and Queen. There are white lilies in front of him, not unlike the fabric ones pinned into Ferdinand’s waves last Thursdays.

It takes Hubert a second too long to remember what he was doing before and where he was going before he was stopped here by his own traitorous eyes and body, and he thinks again that this has truly become an issue.

\--

It is a Thursday afternoon, some short time after 3 pm on a crisp November day when Hubert finally breaks.

They are out on the patio of their usual cafe, surrounded by the yellow, orange, and red of fall when Ferdinand, hair in a twisted half updo and scattered with gold filigree leaves, lets out an open and clear laugh, genuine, into the sky and backlit by the sun behind him. The sight of it an epiphany which could not be articulated, could never be captured in a photograph or painting.

“You do this on purpose.” Hubert’s voice cuts into his laugh, short.

Ferdinand laugh trails off, and he looks at Hubert with mild confusion.

Hubert waves in the general direction to Ferdinand’s face, his long eyelashes, the soft curls that frame his cheekbones. Hubert cannot imagine the expression he must be making right now, probably some unpleasant mixture of pained and offended.

Ferdinand blinks once slowly, then twice.

“Yes…” He trails off slowly, confusion clouding his voice. “For Hilda, yes? I did explain.” He has not caught on, bless him. Curse him. Hubert curses everyone in this godforsaken school but Hubert curses himself most of all.

He is overtaken by momentum and there is no going back. “No I mean you're doing this to me, on purpose, with intent.” Hubert all but spits out. “You must be.”

Ferdinand eyes widen with confusion and even worse, soft concern and hurt. Ferdinand’s eyes are incapable of hiding anything, windows into a man filled only with perpetual good intentions and optimism.

“I do not understand. Have you taken...offense to my hair? Do you not like it? My friend, if you could have let me known, I would have undone it before we met.” Ferdinand’s voice is streaked with a thousand different emotions, hurt, insecurity, concern, none positive. The sound of it is like a knife to the gut, and Hubert is already weakened.

“The problem,” Hubert chokes, “is that I like it too much. If you present yourself to me like this again... Gods Ferdinand, I am only a man. How can I resist?”

Hubert sounds as wrecked as he feels.

And he can see the moment realization hits Ferdinand, hear the soft intake of air on Ferdinand’s lips as recognition and understanding fills Ferdinand’s eyes

Ferdinand blushes, redness spreading across his nose, cheeks, to the tips of his ears and down his neck. It is an impossibility for Hubert to ever forget the sight.

Hubert allows himself to reach out, slowly, and lightly runs the tip of his fingers across the hairs framing Ferdinand’s face. When Ferdinand does nothing to stop it, Hubert feels emboldened, a fire in him now that he is not sure he would be able to suppress even if he wanted to. Hubert runs his thumb across the soft skin of Ferdinand’s cheekbones, follows its curve and continues down, runs his thumb across Ferdinand’s bottom lip.

Ferdinand’s breathing is heavy, lips open slightly, the shape an all too familiar temptation, and his eyes flutter at the touch.

“Hubert I…, my thoughts are a mess and I cannot make sense of anything right now, but if I am interpreting this correctly, you do not have to resist. I beg you not to.”

And apparently Hubert still had remaining restraints and reservations that were not broken by the sight of Ferdinand’s laugh backlit by the sun, because they have been truly shattered with those words.

Lips meet across the table, softly, and Hubert has never tasted anything sweeter.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't even go into hot topic and see hair accessories without thinking about how Ferdinand would look in them now so that's where I'm at with my life.
> 
> I haven't played BE route yet so apologies if it is OOC.


End file.
